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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29986689">The Great Eu-Bro-Pean Adventure</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/freolia/pseuds/freolia'>freolia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(kind of i guess. does it count if they're not technically on the road), Bokuto Koutarou &amp; Kuroo Tetsurou Friendship, But of course they are Best Friends, Don't mistake that tag, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Road Trips, Slow Burn, T is for Talcohol, The author thinks she's much funnier than she is, idiots to lovers, this is intensely gay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:01:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29986689</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/freolia/pseuds/freolia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bokuto, single for the first time in five years, is in a rut after losing his spot in the starting line up of the Jackals. Which is exactly the opportunity Kuroo needed to take his best friend on a whirlwind trip through Europe to help him find his spark again. </p><p>Things Kuroo may have conveniently forgotten when planning the perfect Inspirational Holiday™: he can’t ski to save his life, Bokuto’s extraordinary ability to get himself banned from pretty much any establishment in the world, and just how hard he was still hanging on to that old crush from high school...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Haikyuu Big Bang 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Boarding Call</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here It Is. Six months, half a pandemic, numerous edits and tens of thousands of words later, may I present to you: the culmination of my very first Big Bang.</p><p>I'll leave the big list of thanks and love until the very end instead of boring you now, but a couple of important ones: Willow. My first love. My last. Who's been there - literally from the beginning. The reason this fic exists after you talked me out of dropping out a Minimum of twice. I adore you. And I can't wait to absolutely glomp you in person when this pandemic nonsense is all over. </p><p>Matt; I cannot thank you enough. My beautiful pinch beta king ;_; You're a blessing and a dream. And a wonderful, wonderful friend.</p><p>And Em, who has endured more ranting, more screaming, more hissy fits and tantrums and dramatic Oikawa-worthy self-loathing than anyone else since the very beginning. I did not deserve to get such a patient angel as my artist, but I'll never stop thanking the mods for pairing us &lt;3 </p><p>For all the amazing friends I've made over the last six months, whether through the BB, D&amp;D, Haikyuu, or just over two silly bros who just keep on insisting on falling in love: this one's for you. You know who you are. (I'll namedrop properly at the end ;)) Without further ado, an ode and manifesto to BoKuroo, the places we still have yet to go, and making it through the hardest of times with the best of friends by your side.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kuroo kicked the front door shut behind him right on cue, hands filled with shopping bags. He turned, looked at Bokuto, and sighed in exactly the same way he had the last three times he’d come over. “Bokuto. Have you actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>moved</span>
  </em>
  <span> since I was here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bokuto popped another Pocky stick in his mouth and tugged the blanket back up around his shoulders. “When were you last here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a thud as Kuroo dumped the shopping on the kitchen counter island of Bokuto’s high-end, open-plan apartment and went rummaging for spoons. “Uhh. Tuesday?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bokuto snorted. “Then yeah I moved. I needed more snacks, I don’t keep them in the couch cushions. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Obviously.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kuroo reappeared, two tubs of ice cream in each hand and a look of vague disappointment on his face. “That’s it. Intervention. This is pathetic now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not pathetic, it’s –“ He thought about it. Was six weeks later still a pathetic time to be mourning a break-up? </span>
  <span>“I’m allowed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t have your heart ripped away and your dreams burnt to ashes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He decided it was really time to get better friends as Kuroo started cackling. “Dude, you and Akaashi were falling apart for a year. And you’ve been benched for a month because you put all your energy into murdering yourself at practice instead and fucked up your shoulder. Don’t be such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His injured rotator cuff protested as he hunched over in annoyance. “Whatever. We don’t all have that much practice at heartbreak, Kuroo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it was a bit of a low blow as Kuroo’s face twisted for a moment, a silent ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>yeugh’</span>
  </em>
  <span> for relationships which Bokuto had never been privy to. He’d never doubted for a second that Kuroo was his best friend – but there was an entire corner of his life that Bokuto would only be able to chronicle through the silent periods and break-ups he’d heard about weeks later. Ever since Bokuto had been with Akaashi…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And five years later, here they were. Both single and stupid and alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least they still had each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm. You’re allowed to be upset, Bo. But you’re stagnating. You’ve got yourself in a rut.” Kuroo looked at him, thoughtful this time. “Why do you think your dream is over?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Atsumu’s face, twisted and dark and disappointed when he’d admitted he was out of the team until January. Sakusa blinking, vaguely annoyed. Meian, sympathetic but resigned as he restructured the team in his head. The team without Bokuto. They were all going to keep moving forward. Ushijima would just keep getting stronger out in Poland, Hinata and Kageyama were still flapping and flying, Oikawa was still bending the rest of the world to his tune, and he – </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I’m falling behind. I’m stuck, and everything’s falling apart, and if I can’t keep running then I’m going to come last! I worked so fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kuroo, I-” If anyone understood this from him, it would be Kuroo; Kuroo who’d been there since he was fourteen and angry and alone and burning his own path through the world until it started to listen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kuroo who was still here on his couch, nine years later, watching him carefully as he considered his own words. “Bo. You’re –“ He stopped, unsure of himself. Bokuto could see the point he changed direction with his thoughts. “Do you know what you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> to people?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kuroo smiled to himself, picking at his ice cream. </span>
  <span>“You pull </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>into your orbit. The whole world is watching and waiting and pushing you on at every single turn, and you think you’re going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>lose?</span>
  </em>
  <span> The only person who even doubts you anymore is </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <span> He must have seen the look on Bokuto’s face, the creased little denial that he never even had a chance to voice before Kuroo was talking again. “You’re an idiot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Indignation jammed his brakes. “Hey!” He flicked his spoon at Kuroo, a little droplet of rocky road ice cream spattering his leather sofa cushions. “Don’t pick on me, I’m sad!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kuroo made a face, enough to make Bokuto snort. “Bro, come on. You’ll be playing again by January. And Akaashi was a pipe dream.” With a shitty grin that meant he didn’t mean whatever came out of his mouth next, “He was way out of your league anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bokuto sighed. “Maybe he was. He said he wanted all the little things, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>details</span>
  </em>
  <span>, while I’m not even in Tokyo half the time. Like, his favourite book? I don’t know, who knows that stuff?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, you don’t even remember my birthday half the time. Just means you weren’t quite right for each other. Doesn’t mean you can’t still be important.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, that was once! I remembered this year!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kuroo raised an eyebrow, smile halfway up the side of his face. “And I really appreciated it. But little stuff is more important to some people. You’ll find someone who syncs up perfectly with you one day.” It almost sounded longing. Maybe Kuroo was still looking for that synchronicity as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bokuto puffed a breath out in reply. “I just… I don’t like the empty. You know?” The cup in the bathroom which was far too big for the single toothbrush that occupied it. The shelf in the kitchen where Akaashi’s tea collection had sat and Bokuto still hadn’t had the time to reorganise. Innocuous little gaps in the bookshelves which just seemed to add and add and add, to point to five years that meant nothing now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>White space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What you need,” Kuroo mused, pulling him back from his cloudy thoughts, “Is a holiday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A – huh?” Bokuto tried, confused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kuroo snickered. “You know. A break? That thing normal people need to unwind? You need to get out of your sweaty apartment. Let some fresh air in.” He left his spoon in his mouth for a moment as he did that strange thoughtfully Kuroo-thing of letting the ice cream melt slowly over his tongue. “You remember we said we’d do a trip after high school?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Realisation settled on Bokuto. “Yeah! Dude, are you saying –“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bro trip?” Kuroo grinned at him, eyes gleaming with excitement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bro trip!” He laughed, easy and loud despite everything. “Seven years late, but –“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shush, better late than never.” Kuroo winked. “I’ve got a bunch of holiday to use at work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d use all your holiday on me?” Bokuto asked, grinning back. “My one true love, Kuroo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That shadowy gold gaze flicked away, a strange half-smile that Bokuto wasn’t used to seeing. “Bo, if it would make you smile, I’d quit my job.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gasped, shoving his ice cream bowl back on the table. “Well now you’re getting a hug.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you’re not –“ Kuroo protested, trying and failing to wriggle away before Bokuto could get his arms around him. “Get </span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you stupid –“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bokuto just grinned and tightened his grip. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, Kuroo, quit playing hard to get.” Everything else in life might keep shifting and changing, but Kuroo was still the same, firm and steady in his grasp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh.” He felt the exhale, the resigned laughter all the way through him. “Dumbass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked a bit red in the face when Bokuto pulled back, and he laughed again, more than he had in weeks. “You wanna stay over? We can figure out where we’re going, get pizza – the guy at the local place knows me by name now!” He waggled his eyebrows, more than a little hopeful, not ready to let Kuroo go again just yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm. I actually… I had an idea. For the trip.” Kuroo said, watching him carefully. “If that’s ok? You’ll like it, I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huh. Interesting. Bokuto shrugged. “I always like your ideas, dude. Am I allowed to know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A glimmer of laughter. “No. The Bokuto Surprise Cheer Up Adventure is a surprise for a reason.” Kuroo shoved his empty bowl onto the table next to Bokuto’s. “But I haven’t messed up my back on your couch in ages. If the local pizza places knows you by name, you really </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>need an intervention.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bokuto huffed, pulling his phone out. “Keito is a lovely dude, thank you. Gives me extra pepperoni. I’m perfectly happy the way I am.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The tantrum I just had to listen to –“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bokuto woke up with the late November sunshine the next morning, stretching until his shoulder forced him to wince.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A quest for painkillers revealed a neatly folded sheet on the sofa, along two pillows and the old sweatshirt he’d leant Kuroo to sleep in (ever so slightly too big, to Bokuto’s delight.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His best friend had said he’d probably be gone for work before Bokuto woke up; what he hadn’t mentioned was the neat little note on top of the pile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Morning, birdbrain! I cleaned up the mess. Thanks for a good night. Our (first 😉) flight leaves from Narita airport at 2pm next Saturday. Meet me there at 12pm. (DON’T LOOK UP THE FLIGHT DESTINATION. I WANT IT TO BE A SURPRISE.) Pack for a lot of cool weather and the tiniest amount of VERY cold (and maybe bring some sportswear :3) You’ll want mainly casual and a little smart. As light as you can, we’re moving a lot. Don’t worry about money, I got us covered. We’ll be back Christmas Eve, so you’ll have to tell anyone else that you’re fully booked for three weeks with your best friend (not that you were going anywhere, loser ;P) For the love of god, don’t forget your passport. And lock your apartment when you go.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>See you in a week!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A thrill went through him reading; genuine excitement pumping in dormant capillaries for the first time in weeks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Adventure.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Birdbrain</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>09:43 I fucking LOVE you, dude</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Whiskers</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>09:45 Haha, alright</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>09:45 What’s my favourite book then?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Birdbrain</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>09:45 stfu, still too soon</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>09:46 (...the dicktionary?)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Whiskers</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>10:02 PFFFTT</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>10:02 BO PLEASE CHECK YOUR SPELLING, I’M AT WORK</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>10:03 And no, not even close ;P</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>10:03 Although I am well studied in that particular book ayyyyyy</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Birdbrain</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>10:03 aaayyyyyyyyyy</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>10:05 im gonna work it out!! mark my words &gt;:) u have to deal with me for THREE WEEKS NOW !!!!!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kuroo didn’t immediately respond, and Bokuto grinned, shoving his phone back in his pocket. Maybe he should start packing now? Kuroo had said </span>
  <em>
    <span>first</span>
  </em>
  <span> flight, he’d said cold and colder, sporty and smart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three weeks on the move with his best friend in a strange new land. Time to clean out the air in his lungs, figure out Kuroo’s strange new smiles, put the world to rights with the one person who’d never failed to be there when he needed him. Maybe hope that it was enough time for the world to look a little happier when he came back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>awesome</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Day 1: Sous Le Ciel de Paris...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bokuto yawned, pushing his arms up until he felt the muscles burn pleasantly as they walked out of the airport arrivals lounge. His shoulder twinged, and he scowled. “God, man, where the hell even are we? The moon? No flight should be that long.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo was staring at his phone as he hummed distractedly. He looked annoyingly put together after such a long flight. “It was twelve hours. A trip to the moon takes three days.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pshh. You know what I mean.” Bokuto stared around, trying to figure out where they were. It very clearly wasn’t Asia anymore from the shape of the letters, but it didn’t look like English on all the signs either. “Am I allowed to know where we are now? Since you know. We’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>here.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t meaning to sound quite so grumpy, but there came a point when the flight had run out of in-flight meals and all he’d eaten in twelve hours was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fruit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when someone else had almost walked off with his bag in the baggage reclaim, when they’d been off the flight now for almost an hour and his ears </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> hadn’t re-popped, even as he rubbed at them and smacked the side of his head with the flat of his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was enough to catch Kuroo’s attention, and he looked up. He was clearly trying not to laugh. “Dude. The captain said where we were landing. It was on the displays. Hell, you had a ticket.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was asleep,” he whined, “And you know I can’t read those things, the letters are too small, they keep wiggling.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo narrowed his eyes at a sign, staring back down at his phone before up again. “I think we gotta go this way to get the train.” He grinned at Bokuto, hefting his sports bag on his shoulder. “If I say the airport is called Charles de Gaulle, is that any clue?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto sucked his teeth, staring at his friend with an eyebrow raised. “You know it </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, yeah, forgot you refuse to learn even the most basic facts from world history,” Kuroo agreed cheerfully, sidestepping quickly before Bokuto could smack his arm. “You’ll see, don’t stress.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurooooo,” he whined, grinning to himself as Kuroo huffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck’s sake, Bo, I’d forgotten you got this whiny.” He complained, trying too hard to look annoyed for Bokuto to believe it for a second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s cos I’m tired,” Bokuto said, following him without a second thought. Kuroo always knew where they’d be going. “It’s gotta be what, fuck ‘o’ clock back in Tokyo?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo snorted. “Two in the morning, so yeah, ok. Five years ago we’d still have been buzzing at this time. You’re getting old, dude.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto sighed. "Least my hair isn't going grey." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo stared at him meaningfully, clearing his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What? It's called </span>
  <em>
    <span>silver fox</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the dye box, it's not grey!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We come all the way to Paris, and you want to just sleep?” Bokuto asked, watching Kuroo unpack a couple of things, hanging up his coat. His toiletries, clothes for the next day. The sun was already gone, just a dim purple underlit by neon orange smeared over the sky out of the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's six in the evening. We've got a whole day tomorrow, don't worry. I'd rather not be jet-lagged for a couple weeks." Kuroo said, placing a book down on one of the bedside tables. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hang on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you already pick your bed?” He said, tracking right over the reply Kuroo had opened his mouth for. His best friend closed it again, amused. “That’s not how we work! Don’t you remember -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not this again,” Kuroo groaned, flopping onto the bed by the window. “Do you still do this stupid thing every time -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, because it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>ours,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Bokuto argued, dropping his sports bag with a thump. “Get up. You know what must be done.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an aggravated huff. Kuroo didn’t move. “I don’t even get to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything and I always get the worse bed. Fucking make me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto didn’t even hesitate, grabbing the foot closest to him and pulling with enough force for six foot three Kuroo Tetsurou to come sliding off the bed, landing on his ass with a loud “OW!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said make me!” Bokuto said hastily, jumping over him to clamber onto the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bokuto, if you jump on that bed, I’ll tell your sisters!” Kuroo shouted, grabbing at the bedsheets as he tried to stand up. They stared at each other in tense silence, Kuroo kneeling and tangled in sheets with a hand to the back of his head, Bokuto crouched in a ready position on the mattress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto narrowed his eyes, bending a little more to a deeper crouch, a warning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo spluttered with laughter, falling back on his ass, and the tension holding Bokuto up came splitting away as he fell on the mattress with a cackle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d break the fucking bed, fat ass!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s all - all muscle, you skinny prick, shut up!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make me -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And really. Kuroo should have learnt from part one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled off the bed, landing on Kuroo on his hands and knees. A Kuroo who went quiet very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> quickly, even before Bokuto clapped a hand over his smirky, stupid mouth. He met Kuroo’s eyes, and his triumphant grin slipped a little at just how wide they were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. Two beats too many.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You. Said make me.” He tried to break it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo blinked. His eyes cleared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something wet slimed against Bokuto’s palm, and he sat back with a shriek, wiping his hand on Kuroo’s jumper. “Dude!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really didn’t look as pleased with himself as Bokuto thought he should, but Kuroo was back in the room with his winning smile. That was what mattered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My turn to pick the bed, isn’t it? Nine years later?” He said, too smug, and Bokuto whined. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>sleep</span>
  </em>
  <span> if it’s lumpy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And has </span>
  <em>
    <span>jumping </span>
  </em>
  <span>on the beds ever solved that, do you think?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuroo stretched, shoving him backwards. “I’ll take the one by the window, I think,” he pretty much purred, completely ignoring Bokuto’s annoyed protests as he got up to finish unpacking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kuroo,” Bokuto said later, both of them on their respective beds with room service pizza in front of them and some shitty French action film blaring on the TV, finally giving voice to a question which had tossed and turned for going on a week and twenty hours now, “Why are we doing this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh?” Kuroo managed, turning to look at him. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess.” He considered it. “Isn’t normal usually, like. Taking your bro out to the bar? Getting a couple of drinks? Strip clubs or something? Not three weeks of holiday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched Kuroo swallow the bite of pizza, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He watched him consider his words with that silent little sigh as he pondered and edited what he’d say. “Normal isn’t really. Us. Is it?” He finally managed with a strange little quirk in his cheeks. “We’ve done all that stuff. It’s kind of stupid, it doesn’t...justify who we are. Maybe normal friends go to strip clubs for a pick up after a break up, but…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trailed off, still watching Bokuto. Seeing if he’d be able to fill in the gaps, which weren’t really gaps at all when you knew someone as well as he knew Kuroo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, I get you.” He chewed through another slice of pizza as he mulled the words over. Kuroo really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> more than just another friend to stare at hot stripper dudes with and get drunk off his ass. Kuroo was whispered conversations at 2am at sleepovers, Kuroo was ironic pinky promises when they’d been taking the piss out of Yukippe to </span>
  <em>
    <span>unironic </span>
  </em>
  <span>pinky promises when Bokuto had really needed him. Kuroo was that rare dude friend he could actually talk about dreams and feelings and hopes with and hear Kuroo’s back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was still so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> good to hear that said out loud. There had been such a long stretch where he’d thought… maybe he wasn’t welcome to that side of Kuroo anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, dude?” He gulped down the slice of crust and didn’t turn, not trusting himself to ruin the vibe if he took his eyes off the blonde woman on screen as she threw herself at the lead actor. “I really...love you a lot. You know that right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a very long minute, he could feel Kuroo’s eyes on him from the other side of the room. Before: “Yeah. Yeah, I know, Bo.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The screen clicked to black before his eyes, and he didn’t even have a breath to question it before Kuroo was getting up to turn off the main light, very carefully avoiding his eyes. “Let’s get to bed, huh? Long day tomorrow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bokuto pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth, on the verge of saying… he didn’t even know, something to try and fix the atmosphere. But the room went dark save the dim glow of the bedside lamp, Kuroo’s long arms bigger for the shadows of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he just nodded wordlessly as Kuroo picked up the tattered old book he’d brought with him and slid under the cool hotel sheets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Night, K’roo.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was just the beginnings of warmth blown back into his smile when Kuroo turned to look at him, just enough to settle his heart again. “Night, Bo. Get some rest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took no time at all for exhaustion to creep into his bones, soothed and sped along by the gentle, familiar rustle of pages. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here's some gorgeous art ;_; </p><p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/moomosaic/status/1370163549562040321">https://twitter.com/moomosaic/status/1370163549562040321</a>
</p><p>Em, I'd kill for you.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Day 2: Et Pourtante Je Reste</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Nnnnn,” Bokuto managed as his alarm sounded, looking up blearily. His arm was damp. So was his cheek. </p><p>“Good morning to you too,” Kuroo said somewhere, sounding far too awake and amused for so early. “Ready for day one of the Bokuto cheer up tour?” </p><p>“Nnnnn.” Bokuto replied, wiping the back of his hand across his face to wipe away the drool. </p><p>“That’ll be the jet lag, man, it’ll get better.” The reply came without even asking. Something soft hit him in the face, and he jerked up with a shriek as he fumbled with a jumper. “Get dressed, we’ve got everything to do.” </p><p>*</p><p>“The Catacombs were constructed in the 18th century, to cope with the increasingly pressing number of dead, and the decreasing cemetery space.” The tour guide said, in the blandest voice that Bokuto could remember since Kenma had been asked what his favourite part of volleyball was.</p><p>“Dude, how do you make dead bodies sound lame?” Bokuto whispered, leaning into Kuroo’s space. The sound threatened to travel in the space, the low ceiling pressing down. Trapping them all in the dark with the thousands of dead.</p><p>Kuroo huffed, trying to disguise it as a cough in his hand. “Maybe the guy’s sense of humour is buried somewhere here as well.” </p><p>“Heh, nice.” He looked around the dark chamber, the eye sockets of so many skulls on him. The pair of them were stood near the back of the group of tourists, happier to meander slowly through the tunnels. “This place must have smelled so bad.” </p><p>He felt Kuroo turn to look at him, and heard the smile in his voice. “I mean, yeah. There’s six million people here.”</p><p>“Fuck, dude!” He made a gesture of apology as the tour guide frowned at the pair of them, his monotone monologue interrupted. Lowering his voice, he said, “That’s more people than I know.” </p><p>Kuroo snorted, his shoulders shaking as he tried to stop himself laughing. “Well shit. You’re not wrong.”</p><p>“How’d you reckon they all died?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at a skull at eye level. He half expected it to start gnashing it’s teeth.</p><p>There was a hum, followed by: “Shat themselves to death.” </p><p>Bokuto laughed. “Kuroo -” </p><p>“Can you two be quiet, please?” One of the other couples was frowning at them, the husband the one who’d spoken. He was dressed so badly, he had to be British. “We’re trying to listen.” </p><p>Kuroo held his hands out in apology, his smarmy business smile already in place as he switched to flawless English. “I’m so sorry, my friend isn’t used to the local customs. He’s a bit of a child.” </p><p>Bokuto gasped in outrage. “You’re the one who -” </p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to ask all four of you to leave if you continue.” The tour guide interjected, looking really ruffled.</p><p>The couple turned away, looking fed up. Kuroo never stopped smiling, the corner of his mouth twitching. Bokuto could tell he was struggling not to laugh.</p><p>“In my defence,” he said under his breath, just loud enough for Bokuto to hear, “Dysentery was a massive thing. Some of them probably did shit themselves to death.” </p><p>“That’s a crappy way to go.” Bokuto replied. Seeing the way Kuroo’s face creased as he laughed - he really couldn’t bring himself to care about being asked to leave. Skulls were creepy anway. Who gave a shit about the dead when he had someone so alive right next to him?</p><p>*<br/>
Oil paint and canvas plastered the walls around them, art and life and the dedication of hundreds of artists stuffed into a pale room and suffocated in the quiet which only ever seemed to fog the air of art galleries. Bokuto looked up at the massive oil canvas on the wall. The frozen figures ignored him, trapped in their golden frame in a single moment forever. His eyes kept tracking up and away from the tiny little information card he’d given up on squinting at until he found the light of the skylight above them. He glanced around the room; the intricate little patterns traced into the coving around the ceiling, the people stopping and starting and milling in the space, their conversations heard through a muffler.  </p><p>“I can’t believe they just let people in for free. That’s -”</p><p>“Really cool?” Kuroo finished for him, staring up at the gallery wall. Sharp eyes, taking in details Bokuto didn’t have the slightest clue how to unravel. His gaze darted over the canvas, his hands buried somewhere in the pockets of his coat. </p><p>Bokuto had always been more interested in people than the things they made. </p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Bokuto replied, looking back up at the painting. The little caption had said it was a landmark work of the sixteenth century. “Isn’t it weird that being gay was such a bad thing when all the dudes painted shit like this?” </p><p>“You joke, but actually…” Kuroo looked at him, his eyes gleaming as he started talking about sexuality in Renaissance Europe, and Bokuto smiled back without thinking. </p><p>Bokuto had never really been one for art galleries on school trips. Neither had his friends to be fair; Akaashi was the exception, and he was someone who liked to stop, to contemplate to himself. With Kuroo, the galleries came to life; he pointed out details that would have meant nothing, the way a pear was the representation of the artist’s failing marriage, the steady mental decline of another artist which had led to the stomach-churning intensity of clashing colours. The way that painting had been completed a week before the artist died in a duel. Names and titles flew over his head, but stories caught Bokuto, kept his eyes wide as whole lives unpacked themselves on canvas as they walked and talked and Kuroo’s penchant for retaining the weird, strange details just kept making him grin. </p><p>“And that one over there,” Kuroo pointed, jerking him from his thoughts. Bokuto followed his gaze with interest. "- That one’s you.” The smartest person Bokuto knew pointed at the ugliest painting of a baby he’d ever seen with a massive toothy smile on his face. </p><p>He tilted his head to the side. The baby Jesus squinted back at him, a pudgy hand to his bulbous head. </p><p>“You can see my dad’s eyes.” He grinned, sniggering. “Anyway, if that’s me, that one -” He pointed to the opposite wall, another baby Christ leering out at the viewer, “That one’s you.”</p><p>Kuroo cackled. A curator looked at them in alarm. She wasn’t the first person to react like that to Kuroo’s hyena laugh. “That one has the arms. But I’m not blonde, so you’re wrong.” </p><p>“Nah, that’s you.” </p><p>“It’s not.” He paused, pulling his phone out. “Hang on, come here.” He tapped another visitor on the shoulder, making the universal gesture for ‘Can you take a picture of us?’ She nodded with a nervous smile.</p><p>Which vanished into a laugh as soon as the pair of them stood in front of the worst portrait they could find, and reenacted Christ and the Virgin Mary with the most intense resting bitch faces of the last two millennia. </p><p>*</p><p>“How come everything is so much more fun with you?” Bokuto half-complained as they turned a corner. </p><p>Kuroo raised an eyebrow at him. “Why do you make that sound like a crime? I can be boring if you want.” </p><p>“No, dude, I mean -” He grumbled, unable to put it into words. “You just make everything cool? Why can’t I just enjoy art galleries on my own? What’s up with that? Why do I need my best friend here to have fun?” </p><p>“That’s… such a weird thing to get upset over.” Kuroo replied, smiling his strange smile again as his gaze flicked away. </p><p>Bokuto huffed. “You wouldn’t get it, you understand this stuff when you look at it. You can just enjoy it. You’re independent and smart, while I’m…” </p><p>There was a tug on his arm as Kuroo pulled him to a stop, his face serious. “Bo. Do you think I enjoy this stuff this much when you’re not here?”</p><p>“Well yeah, you actually understand -” He cut off with a wheeze as Kuroo smacked his hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look him in the eyes. </p><p>“Quit saying that like you’re stupid.” He said, his mouth in a set line, a little crease between his eyebrows that usually only came out when Daishou was being a dick. “There isn’t a deep meaning to most of this stuff. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder or whatever.” </p><p>Bokuto let out a little puff, his cheeks still squashed. His confusion must have shown, as Kuroo frowned more deeply. </p><p>“I want to find something in them. I look for it, and sure the artist leaves you clues, but... Art is only ever what you make of it. And I make something way more fun of it when you’re here with me. Ok?” He squeezed Bokuto’s cheeks, forcing him to nod his head in agreement. </p><p>Kuroo let his face go, eyes still searching over his face. And it happened again, a happy little lift somewhere behind his sternum. Whatever Kuroo found must have satisfied him, as he smiled a little before Bokuto even had a chance to word his reply. “Thanks, bro.” He’d never seemed to have the right words for stuff like this, but Kuroo got it. He always did.</p><p>“No problem.” Kuroo’s face lit up, and he pointed over Bokuto’s shoulder. “I was wrong before though. That one is definitely you.” </p><p>Bokuto turned, and felt his eyebrows scrunch up. “Isn’t that the uh. Moaning Lisa or something? The really famous one?” </p><p>Kuroo laughed, easy, loud, nudging into Bokuto with his shoulder. “Yeah. You’re the most valuable art in the world to me, dude.”</p><p>“Bro…” </p><p>*</p><p>“Ok, we have one more place I wanna show you.” Kuroo said as they left the museum. The sky was dark over Paris as they left behind the glass pyramid, and the Arc de Triomphe was lit up gold in front of them. There was the barest hint of a glow on the horizon, the sort of moment that Bokuto wanted to catch and hold for how fast it ran through his fingers. </p><p>His eyes lingered on the skyline as the sun stole it’s last light from the day. “Is it a diner? Because I’m a growing man, dude, and these Europeans don’t seem to understand what a good portion is.” </p><p>Kuroo laughed, his head tilting back a fraction as his breath misted in the air. Bokuto caught the glimpse of colour from his burgundy scarf. “No, it’s not. We’ll find you dinner after. I am going to get culture in you if it fucking kills me.” </p><p>Bokuto shrugged. “I have culture, dude, I watched Pride and Prejudice with the pretty British dude with Akaashi.” </p><p>That earned him a proper laugh, a shoulder bump as they headed back towards the metro station. “Come on, you’ll like this.” </p><p>Half an hour later, and Bokuto grinned. “Is that the, uhh…” The silhouette towered above them, unmistakeable, laced and sparkling with gold as it stretched into the sky. </p><p>“Yeah.” Kuroo confirmed. “That’s the one.” He looked at Bokuto sideways, his face carefully measured. “There’s six hundred and seventy four steps to the second floor of the Eiffel Tower.” He paused in the way that he’d always used to before suggesting an idea that made Akaashi groan and Kenma storm away from the pair of them. The way that always brought a tingle to the tips of Bokuto’s fingers, a tension between his lungs that only Kuroo could bring and relieve. “You wanna race?” </p><p>Bokuto narrowed his eyes, measuring up Kuroo’s slim fit jeans against his own loose sweats, working out his chances. Hell, he was a top level athlete. Kuroo was about to get mowed down. “Oh fuck yeah.”</p><p>*</p><p>Racing was a mistake. </p><p>Bokuto would never admit that out loud, he wasn’t some noob, he knew that he’d always be chalked up as the loser if he admitted the mental defeat aloud like that, but damn! He’d made a great many mistakes in his life. It was a part of being Bokuto Koutarou; act first, think about the consequences later, but this time? This time he could admit to himself: racing up the Eiffel Tower was a Mistake. </p><p>He staggered up the last step, his legs like jelly, chest heaving, and just about managed to avoid collapsing on the floor, grabbing at the wall. There was a couple already there who turned to stare at him, eyes wide. He raised his hand in a greeting, wheezed out a shaky ‘hey’ before coughing. </p><p>The couple vanished towards the lift quickly. </p><p>There was a rasping gasp from the stairwell; it took another minute before Kuroo dragged himself into sight, sweat dripping at his hairline as he staggered onto the second deck. He made a flapping gesture with his hands, a ‘wait for it’ that indicated he wanted to say something. Bokuto waited; it took him ten gasping breaths before he managed to spit out, “Never let me say anything ever again.”</p><p>Bokuto creased over, hysterical laughter spilling from his lips. He landed on his ass and figured he was happy enough to stay there, laughing so hard his stomach hurt as he struggled to catch his breath. “That - that was awful!” He pushed out between his laughs, scrubbing at his eyes. “You look - look like the uh. The Witch of the Waste. On the steps.”</p><p>Kuroo gasped - and immediately started coughing. “F- fuck off,” he spluttered, “From Howl’s Moving Castle?”</p><p>Bokuto nodded, cackling as Kuroo staggered towards him before holding up a finger, hands on his knees as he panted. “Fuck, I feel like I’m gonna throw up.” </p><p>“Shouldn’t have quit the volleyball, bro.” Bokuto replied, his chest still tight as he straightened up, trying to regulate his breathing. Kuroo always got his pulse going; that was true of everything, but it had always been amazing when they’d been on the court together. He knew in his head that most of the people he'd played with would never carry on past high school, but Kuroo had been a blow nonetheless. Little moments like these were getting hard to find now Kuroo wasn’t always in his life.</p><p>Kuroo made a face. “Some of us have to live in the real world.” He replied, sticking his tongue out as he exhaled heavily. “Come on, there’s a lift to get to the top.” </p><p>“Can’t hack the last couple of stairs, old man?” Bokuto asked, eyebrow raised. </p><p>Kuroo stared at him unimpressed. “They’re closed. Dumbass. Which you’d know if you’d looked at the sign. Although it was english. And black on white. ” He made his thoughtful face. “Not really dyslexia friendly, huh.” </p><p>“Nowhere is, dude,” Bokuto shrugged, used to it by now, “It’s why you gotta make awesome friends who read stuff out to you instead.” Kuroo smiled at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. </p><p>The lift was blissfully empty when they stepped inside; they sat down at the front, right by the glass. The view only got better as they stepped out at the top, following the signs around to the open-air viewing deck. </p><p>“Whoa,” Bokuto said, his mouth stretching into a smile in spite of himself. “That’s a shit-nice view, dude.” </p><p>Paris spread out underneath them in every direction, a core of glowing gold and life. Gardens spread out like a vital vein away from them to the north, a line of illuminated, verdant green, nature and life in the heart of a city that he’d need to ask Kuroo about when the moment was gone and he could drag it down with mundanities. </p><p>A sigh. “I bring you all the way to the city of love, and the best you can say is ‘shit-nice’.” Kuroo kicked his foot with a sharp smile, stepping away from him. The viewing platform was empty, probably an effect of the wintery night air.</p><p>“The city of love?” Bokuto looked at him in confusion. The thought washed over him that maybe this was just some elaborate prank, Kuroo banking on him already being able to laugh off five years of love. His good mood fell into the heels of his feet, but he tried to keep his voice light as he replied, “Bit soon.”</p><p>Kuroo shook his head, walking out to the edge of the railings. “Come here,” he said, head turning over his shoulder to turn to Bokuto. He looked alien in the glow of the lights, strange shadows cast over his handsome face to turn him into someone else. </p><p>Bokuto stood by his side, shoving his hands in his pockets. The December breeze was bitingly cold this high up, pulling at his spiked hair. “What am I looking at?” He asked, staring out at the endless constellations of artificial gold, a distilled mirror of the night sky. </p><p>“This is Paris, Bo.” Kuroo looked at him, something amused, something unreadable. “The city of love.” </p><p>Bokuto sighed, huffing. “Yeah, I get it. Thanks, man, you brought me to the other side of the world to remind me that no one loves me anymore. Great joke.” He was a far cry from the temperamental teenager who could never crack the top five national aces, but hell, he’d thought Kuroo knew him well enough not to pull at certain threads. The city sparkled beneath them, a whole nebula, endless threads with them caught in the centre. </p><p>He wondered how it would feel with Akaashi next to him instead. Whether he was thinking of the Akaashi he knew at the start, or the Akaashi he lost at the end.</p><p>Kuroo sighed, exasperated. It sounded like he was trying not to laugh. “Bo.” He waited until Bokuto was looking at him properly. “Just over two million people live here. If this is one city,” he reached out, flicking his nose, “How many more people are there in the rest of the world who are going to love you?” </p><p>Bokuto blinked. “Huh?” </p><p>“Look at all this!” Kuroo grinned, pushing Bokuto’s head ninety degrees to stare out over the lights again. “We’re starting in Paris because the world loves you, Bokuto Koutarou. It always has, as much as you love it back. And it’s a bit shit right now, but there is so much more love waiting for you. I know it.”</p><p>He stared at his best friend, Kuroo’s hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, his messy hair waving in the breeze. His eyes caught the reflection of the lamps around the top of the tower. “How do you know something like that?” Bokuto asked, still feeling a bit pathetic. </p><p>Kuroo winked, that mysterious smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. In the lights at the top of Paris, the smile almost looked longing. “I know everything, Bo. I’m the smart one, remember? Who the hell couldn’t love you?” </p><p>He sounded so sure of it, like he knew something Bokuto didn’t. “Akaashi doesn’t love me,” he pouted, but it already didn’t punch the way it had moments ago. Kuroo had found a cold little ember buried somewhere in his chest and brushed it off, blown on it and brought it back to life for the night. He was right, wasn’t he? Sure, it kind of sucked. But it was so easy to get stuck in his head. The world was full of people. His life hadn’t started with calling someone Keiji instead, and it wouldn’t end there. When had he stopped seeing himself beyond who was sharing his bed?</p><p>Kuroo rolled his eyes. “Akaashi has no taste,” he complained, “He called me a pain in the ass, remember?” </p><p>Bokuto laughed, the happy memory from training camp bursting back into life behind his eyes. “You are a pain in the ass,” he argued, delighted by the silly little pout he got in response, easily forgetting about the beautiful view on his right when he got to stare at Kuroo instead. </p><p>“You’re one to talk,” Kuroo grumbled in response to the jibe, “Forget about me buying you dinner.”</p><p>“We deserve each other,” he declared, throwing an arm around Kuroo’s shoulder, his head falling naturally against Kuroo’s. “We’re both pains in the asses. Ass? Asseseses?” He hummed in annoyance. “Whatever. But at least I got you. I missed us, Kuroo.” The world felt a little more stable with his best friend pressed back against his side. Kuroo had always felt a little more tangible, stronger and more sure and holdable than Akaashi had. It had never felt like he was trying to play catch-up with Kuroo. </p><p>Kuroo hummed, and Bokuto felt the vibrations tickling through his temple. After a long moment: “I missed us too, Bo.” It didn’t feel like a lie, but it didn’t feel like the whole truth either. Bokuto let it go. He had time to puzzle it out. </p><p>They stood like that, sharing a little bit of warmth at the peak of Paris as Bokuto pulled strength from him, until a loud grumble from Bokuto’s stomach split the peace.</p><p>Kuroo laughed, loud and surprised and echoing over the distant noise of the city far below as he tried to pull away from Bokuto. His arm tightened for a moment before he let Kuroo go, pouting at the loss of warm weight. “Come on, let’s get you your dinner.” Kuroo said, turning away. “We have an early start tomorrow.” </p><p>“Oya?” He asked curiously, “What kind of an early start?” </p><p>Kuroo was a half step ahead of him, just too far for Bokuto to properly see his face, but he could see the tilt of a smile. “The kind where we have to catch a bus to the happiest place on Earth.”</p><p>Bokuto grinned, speeding up to link his arm with Kuroo’s as they piled back into the lift. He pulled away, grumbling, but he’d clearly forgotten that Bokuto was more determined than that. “Just for that,” he grinned as Kuroo gave in, falling against his side with a strange look on his face, “I’m gonna buy you dinner. As long as they serve like, three courses, because I’m fucking starving.” </p><p>“You’re always starving.” Kuroo argued, not meeting his eyes, that strange smile on his face again. </p><p>“It takes a lot of energy to be this awesome all the time!” He protested, and Kuroo laughed.</p><p>“Being insufferable does sound exhausting.” </p><p>“Kuroo!” </p><p>He felt three times lighter as they left the Eiffel Tower behind them, nudging each other through the golden streets of Paris. Nobody even gave the two of them a second glance; just two more friends on the other side of the world, laughing their way through the city of love. </p><p>Kuroo was right; who knew what new love the universe had in store for him?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you think the tone of this fic is going to get more advanced than "Bokuto stared at the only real piece of art in the Louvre: Kuroo Tetsurou" for the next 16 chapters, you are sadly mistaken. </p><p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/moomosaic/status/1370163556767780864">More art!!</a>
</p><p>Thanks for reading, see you soon for the next stop. Some of you may be able to guess what that might be ;) Mwah! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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